


Seeds of Discord Part 28

by kbj1123



Series: Wonder Woman & Captain America [29]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Crossover Pairings, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, One True Pairing, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbj1123/pseuds/kbj1123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone or something is causing violent riots to erupt all over the U.S., and whatever it is, it wreaks havoc with both Wonder Woman's health and Bruce Banner's ability to keep his rage in check.</p><p>Diana and Steve's first night home from their near-deadly mission, part 2; Steve finds a way to make up for his own angst over what happened that night in the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeds of Discord Part 28

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a writing experiment that I hope works well. Please let me know!

Sometime in the earliest part of the morning, on the cusp of sleep and wakefulness, Steve hears Diana ask is he’s awake. He looks across the room and sees soft, steady snow against blackness in the dresser mirror. He wonders if spring will ever make its way into their lives. The clock tells him it is 2:13. Rolling over, he spoons around her and kisses her ear very softly. She catches his hand and pulls it around her, drawing them closer together. “Good,” she whispers. He inhales slowly into the space between her hair and her neck. Diana always smells like the sweetest, cleanest ocean. The scent spirals to the back of his tongue and lingers in his throat, then makes a descent. She makes a sound that is somewhere between a hum and a purr. He kisses her again, and she makes the sound again. She sounds happy and sleepy. He pulls in a little closer, careful to avoid touching her with his own hardness. In reality, he has no idea how to approach her after the other night at the hospital. But she relaxes and gently presses her back into his chest, and they move closer together. He eases his thumb and fingers over her pajama top to the space between her shoulder blades and presses, and matches his inhalation to hers. They breathe together as if connected by his fingers along that small space on her spine. Even her silky pajama top takes up her scent, and it’s as if he is touching a petal when he puts his hand near it. Even though he knows better, he is afraid of damaging her. 

He bends his neck down and touches the space where her skin disappears below her collar with his mouth. He does his best to be mindful that he hasn’t shaved for a couple of days, but she shivers and he knows it must tickle her. He moves his closed mouth across the nape of her neck slowly. This woman fills him with such a jumble of emotions; he is determined not to let his body take over again. He disentangles his fingers from hers and moves that hand to her brow, down the bridge of her nose and over each eyelid. He knows her bones so well that touching and drawing are almost identical sometimes. He traces her cheekbones. He marks the outline of her lips with his index finger and doesn’t let her take it between her teeth. He senses her smile into his fingers— that smile that makes his insides ache. 

Diana moves her foot along his calf, scrunching his sweatpants. He does his best to ignore it. He focuses on the soft synchronizing of their breathing and traces the bones of her throat with his finger, then the circumference of her breasts. He wants them to breathe together. He holds his breath when her own rhythm changes, and breathes with her again. He wishes if he concentrated very hard, that they could match heartbeats as well. When she moves her hand to unbutton her top, he eases it away, and then undoes the top button himself. She arcs her head back; he barely kisses her neck and undoes another button. He slides a sleeve down past her shoulder, touches his mouth to that place, too. One by one, he undoes a button, skims his fingers over that much more of her breasts, and moves her pajama sleeve further down, moves his lips to that new, bare place until he is able to slip the top off of her completely. She tries to roll over towards him, but he stops her by moving down her spine with soft kisses, practically vertebra by vertebra. Her skin is even softer and more delicate than the fabric that had been covering her. It quivers wherever his stubble touches it.

Finally, he presses one hand over her shoulder and helps her roll over. Her eyes are all ocean and dark sky, and they lock on his. Without breaking eye contact, she reaches for the hem of his shirt but he shakes his head ‘no.’ “Let me love and worship you properly,” he says very quietly. His neck goes warm at saying something so cliché, but he means it; she must believe him because she lets go of his shirt. He wants so many conflicting things that he can’t possibly describe to himself right now, and he’s fighting most of them. He shivers. Diana cups one hand along his face and looks at him with a mixture of concern and want. He bends down and again, touches his lips to hers without opening his mouth. In truth, he is afraid that with too much contact anywhere, that aggressive, possessive animal will break free again, and he’s unwilling to let that happen. He thinks he’d rather die right now than allow it expression. He kneels over her. With his index fingers, he traces lines from each of her shoulders to the palms of her hands, and all of her fingers, then back up the backs of her hands, the thin, sensitive wrists, and inner elbows. His hovers his hands above her ribs. Even though they’ve healed completely, in his mind he still sees the bruises he left there last time and slides his palms along her ribcage. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him. They’re so dark right now. He doesn’t know what combination of desire and wariness is there. “I swear will never hurt you again, ever,” he says. 

She sits up and puts her hand over his heart, just like their first time, just as she often does. She doesn’t even have to say anything; he knows she still trusts him. Somehow she reminds him again that as far as she’s concerned, he is her home. She sits up a little taller and kisses him, parting her lips and tracing the outline of his mouth with her tongue. He kisses her back this time. The taste and scent of her skin and her spicy-sweet breath nearly overpower him with the impulse to lose himself completely. He slides his tongue into her mouth and his hands on her buttocks and nearly forgets that he didn’t want this to be about him at all until she pulls him down over her. Their hips align perfectly and he kisses her harder. She wraps her calves around his and tugs at his shirt again; then he remembers. He pulls back again. She probably thinks he’s lost his mind. In fact, it’s the opposite. He’s doing his best to maintain it. 

Steve scoots further down the bed and moves his hands to the waistband of her pajama bottoms, then folds them over once and slides the tip of his tongue along the little ridges that the elastic has left on her skin. Her abdomen and belly begin to undulate. He slides her pajamas all the way down. Then he brings his mouth to her left inner thigh and bites down, just a little bit. She inhales sharply and he freezes for a moment. The fear of hurting her is never far, and he’s grateful for its presence. She would tell him though. She promised. He trusts her. He kisses the place where he’s just used his teeth. “Oh my love, she says, as if reading his doubt, “just like that.” Her voice is somewhere between a command and a plea. He brings his teeth to her other thigh, and barely closes them down into the space between skin and muscle. As he moves his face higher up he bites more gently, and she bears down into the mattress. He senses her pulse quicken as she grips the sheets.

He flattens his palms into the hardness of her hip bones and presses his lips into the hollow space between Diana’s belly and thigh. She gasps and says something in Themyscrian and spreads her legs wider. He is making her react like this. It never gets old: he is always fascinated and astounded that he can arouse that much pleasure in her. His heart races and hammers down into his stomach and his balls. All he has left is breath and a thin thread of willpower. He forces his breath to stay even; he allows guilt and fear to wrestle down desire.

He gently sucks on the outer edge of her sex, making his way around, little by little, until he moves all the way around both sides and to the place where he knows she feels most intensely. Her palms are on his head now. He knows she is trying not to clench his hair in her fists. He moves his tongue up the entire length of her insides and touches her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. He’s only been like this with her once before, and the mixture of memory and the present moment transports him because in spite of her protests, she is a flesh-and-blood goddess. This place is sacred; it is beach and some strange flower that pulses with the sea. One day, if he’s brave, he might try to draw what he senses here. 

She presses her fingertips into his scalp and breathes harder. “Steve, don’t let me hurt you,” she says in a hurry, and moves her hands off of him to clutch at the sheets again. Even when receiving, he thinks, her main concern is not herself. He smiles and pulls away, and kisses her thigh. “I can take it,” he says, and then he presses his tongue against that same, sensitive spot with more pressure. Her hips start to swivel and rock. When he moves one hand to her thigh and the fingers of the other into her vagina, her hands move back to his head and she clenches his hair in fists. He feels her nails on his scalp and is reasonably sure she’s drawn blood. He doesn’t stop though. She is so strong she practically pulls him up by the hair when she comes. Even though he’s startled by the throaty, warrior scream—a sound he hasn’t heard before, he moves his fingers up and down her inner thighs and traces her initials along her insides with his tongue until she stops moving.

For a few minutes, he lies with his head on her belly, and she rests her hands gently over his head. It feels as if he’s just run three marathons at a sprint. His brain is empty and his entire head stings and throbs. “Wow,” he finally says into her skin. 

Diana sits up and runs her fingers over his scalp. “Oh Steve I am so sorry.”

“What?” He says. “I wasn’t complaining, Diana. That was incredible!” He sits up as well and she opens her hands to show him the blonde hairs in her palms and the blood under her fingernails. “No, I mean I am really, really sorry.”

He frowns and puts his hand up to the top of his head. It feels fine; when he looks back at his own palm only a few more strands and some dried blood are on it. He bursts out laughing. After a few minutes, he catches his breath. When he can speak again he says, “Y’know, most guys worry about losing their hair as they get older, but this isn’t a bad way for it to happen to me if it ever does!” Diana doesn’t laugh. She inches toward him and bends his head toward her to inspect it. She sighs with relief. “I didn’t get much by the roots. It will grow back, but surely, that hurts? I’ll go get something to clean off the one raw spot.” He doubles over laughing again. Diana looks nonplussed, and that makes it harder for him to regain control. 

Eventually, he takes a couple of shuddering breaths. “You have no idea how mind-blowing it is to bring you that much joy. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat just to hear you shout like that.” She frowns and shakes her head ‘no.’ “Absolutely yes,” he counters, grinning. He reaches over and hands her back her pajama top. She takes it from him and lets him re-button it over her. “This will happen again,” he repeats, “but I might plan ahead next time and wear my helmet.” She tilts her head to consider this for a moment and he tries not to burst out laughing again, but then her mouth twitches a bit, and she giggles. Steve and Diana fall back on the bed and they laugh until tears stream down. The tears are rivers and they cling to each other; their laughter sends the water down the landscapes of their bodies. Where their bodies touch, even separated by clothing, the rivers seem to run together into a new ocean which merges them together like blood, one life indistinguishable from the other. The ocean is calming. They float together in that new space that joins them, and it rocks them to sleep.


End file.
